Confessions: Letters to Old Lovers.


I miss you.

If I could take back what I did, I would. I wish I hadn’t treated you so poorly, it haunts me to this day. Not always, but once in a while a memory will pop up and I’ll remember the good times we had. The excitement, the happiness. I miss your face. I miss your laughter. I miss the intimacy. I don’t miss your stubbornness. I don’t miss certain things you’d say and some of your opinions. But I miss your passion, and most of all I miss the things that could’ve been. The things we talked about when I was in your arms. The amazement we had in all the things we had in common. The jokes. The secrets we’d pass with a look, a smile over a table of friends. The beautiful beginning of how we met and the feelings I felt.

I thought to myself, “Surely he could not have feelings for me…surely, I’m not his type.”

What a wonderful surprise to realize I could be. The funny start we had. My hesitance and our first date ending up just being a conversation on a park bench as a result. What a great conversation that was, even if I don’t remember it. The random homeless man who walked up to us to tell us what a beautiful couple we were- what a promising beginning to a blossoming relationship. You were the first to ever make me breakfast. You bought me a green toothbrush after 2 weeks. I trusted you, and you I. You did some embarrassing things for me, for which I’m still thankful for. I miss having that face next to mine by the bonfire. I was the first girl to ever successfully make the watch The Notebook, which still makes me laugh today…though I’d also like to apologize for now ruining a perfectly good film for you.

But I was selfish and a coward. I’d just gotten out of a long relationship and was afraid to get into another one. Something in my head kept telling me to be single, to be on my own. I was afraid of committing, afraid of commitment. I’d been disappointed so many times and part of my heart was still somewhere else. I thought you were a nice rebound, you had to have been. I wasn’t ready. So I told myself I was sick of you. Listed the reasons why we would never work but at the same time reminded myself I was just being my usual self-sabotaging self. I tried to stop myself from thinking that way and some days it’d work, some days it wouldn’t.

I had to leave the country, it was the perfect excuse to get away. I promised you I’d come back. But I knew myself. The more time and space got between us, the easier it would be for me to let go. So that last day, I looked at your face. I studied it when we said our good byes. The way you smiled, the way your hair fell, the clothes you were wearing, how you made me feel. I wanted to remember it, I wanted it imprinted in my memory so that when I was away I wouldn’t forget. But it wasn’t enough..

After a while, I stopped remembering the good and clung onto the bad. And the harder you pushed, the closer you got, the farther I ran. I was almost back from my trip. A week before coming home, I was still telling you how excited I was to see you. It was the truth. Part of me longed for you, longed to see you. I was so conflicted.

So when I got back, I had the best excuses not to see you, they bided me some time. Until eventually I just stopped. Stopped responding and cut the ties. I couldn’t do it. I was too afraid to face my emotions and you were too promising. Too good. I knew if I stuck by you, you’d be too good for me to ever find a reason to leave. I couldn’t handle it. Not then. You tried and tried to contact me but I never responded. I still remember your final email. It had nothing but a question. I remember thinking to myself, I could still do this. I could still save this, come up with an excuse as to why I was so distant and we’d go back to how we were. Happy. It wasn’t too late. But I did nothing.

Since then whenever I saw our mutual friends, they would never tell me much when I asked, and I was always too afraid to ask too much. I didn’t have the right. One of them told me, maybe I could apologize. I toyed with the idea but it never came to fruition. How could I? How would I even approach it? Approach you? Why would you ever even listen? After spending however long you did to get over it, get over me- what right did I have to dredge it all back up again? There was one thing I always wanted to tell you. Right after asking your best friend about you and getting nothing in response, he tried to get me into bed. He pushed and pulled, his lips were on my neck. It made me sick, and I left. I thought of calling you, texting you about it. Shouldn’t you have the right to know something like this about a close friend? But I didn’t…because why in the world would you still care about what your friends did to me or not? Why would you still care about me.

It’s been 2 years now. I hear you’ve moved away. I’m with someone else now, and I’m so happy. I would even say the events of what happened between us led to me finding the man I’m with now. But perhaps my life could’ve gone either way. I still think of you. Not in a romantic sense, though sometimes I do still dream of you (as I’ve dreamed of many people I’ve come across in life), but in curiosity. What would have happened if I didn’t let you go? If I wasn’t so selfish, if I wasn’t such a coward. If I wasn’t so afraid of love and being loved, because although it was premature, I know in my heart we could’ve been great.

I’m also fully aware that it’s possible that my imagination of who we could’ve been might be greater than any reality could ever be.

I still contemplate reaching out to you one day. Telling you how I feel. But why should you care? You’ve long moved on with your life, and I don’t think I could bear a cold response…even if that is what I’d deserve. But let’s say in the perfect universe, we’re both single and meet again in the future, and if the natural spark were still there underneath all the hurt and hate…do you think you could forgive me? If enough time had passed, could we just start over and chalk it up as youthful stupidity on my part? Would it just be another chapter in our story? These are all the things I think about, when I think of you.

I wonder if you would laugh at how greatly I still think of you and us. I’m sure you’ve already forgotten me. What were we to you anyway? It was 2 years ago and you’ve moved on. In the grand scheme of things, we may as well have not happened.

But I miss you and I wish I could say I’m sorry. For my callousness, coldness. My selfish, cowardice ways. I’m sorry for ever hurting you. You’re a good person with a great heart. You made me laugh. I hope you’re happy, perhaps with a real love in your life that you deserve. And if you’re on your own, I hope you’re following your dreams. I’m not anybody to you anymore, but you’re still in my memories. Maybe we’ll meet again one day, if the fates will allow it and maybe you won’t want to brush me off.

Until then, I’ll just be that girl you liked once whom you never heard from again, who turned out to be a huge disappointment and terrible bitch. I know you probably don’t think very highly of me (if you even think of me at all), but I still think the world of you.

The Aspiring Actress.